


the hunter's shadow

by ciarnys



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-19
Updated: 2015-02-19
Packaged: 2018-03-13 17:55:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3390815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ciarnys/pseuds/ciarnys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p><br/><em>I'm not a hero </em><br/><em>I'm not a savior</em><br/><em>Forget what you know</em><br/><em>I'm just a man</em><br/><em>Whose circumstances</em><br/><em>Went beyond his contro</em>l<br/></p>
</blockquote>Lavellan never asked to be the leader of a human movement. All she ever wanted to do was protect her clan, but fate thought otherwise. Though reluctant, she found herself in a position of power, but as a mere shadow of the proud hunter she once was.
            </blockquote>





	the hunter's shadow

When she opened her eyes, she saw shadows. For an instant she thought she was in the Beyond, until one of them turned, taking a form of a weathered warrior. A _shemlen_ female warrior, with dark, furious eyes and sharp cheekbones that bore the scars of battle.  
She was chained.  
Tugging uselessly, she suppressed the urge to scream, to yell profanities at the human who stared her down, to demand her freedom. Bound, useless, in pain, nothing but a shadow, yet spoken to as a being.  
They wanted answers, the warrior and the cowled lady beside her.  
Answers she did not have, did not care for. But they seemed to think otherwise.

\---

The next few days blurred together. A strange, green glow in her hand declared her of a faith she knew was a lie. People spoke to her as an equal, on matters she knew nothing about. What was a Divine supposed to do? And why was she on a Sunburst Throne if she was not a queen? Why put mages in these ‘Circles’ when they were so clearly feared, and why hadn’t the mages done something with their power before now? Shemlens had always acted like idiotic da’len in her eyes, thinking only of the present and fearing the unknown. They rarely bothered to think of the future, of the consequences their actions may have on the world.

\---

The first time she had offered an opinion, a true opinion of her own, she was looked at as if she was covered in spots. Magic were but a means to an end to Lavellan, but it was here amongst strangers that she realized few thought likewise. Maybe if they hadn’t lived in fear of demons, embraced the gift and taught it like the Dalish did (though some clans were as ignorant as these people) they could see that a man with a torch could cause as much damage as a mage with fire. And when she voiced this thought, something she did rarely even with her own, she was instantly chastised and reprimanded, just like a da’len. It was after this that she swore to herself not to speak a word of her own, to remain the shadow of the person she was. She was never a scholar, never interested in the Beyond or curious about human oddities; that was Mihvra, with her glowing staff and eyes always wandering towards the cities. Not that the elf wasn’t smart in her own way; her Dirthamen vallaslin told otherwise to those who knew how to read the markings. Her knowledge lied in the stories of old (she was training to be a hahren for her clan), practical uses for a blade and arrow, and how people thought.

Lavellan knew how to move in a forest of trees; she could walk across dry leaves without making a sound. But this was a forest of people, always changing, always moving and shifting and indecisive. But she learned. Learning always came easy to Lavellan; soft words and pretty smiles worked far better here than they did in the clan, where everyone knew her too well to fall to her petty tricks or her cryptic tongue. It was here in the human realm where she learned... No, not to lie, but to bluff. Bluffing that she had a educated human’s knowledge on the intricacies of the Chantry (when in secret she’d always casually ask Mother Giselle, wiser than the rest of the humans and quickly realized how truly ignorant she was in these matters and did not hesitate to offer a helping hand). Bluffing that she knew the difference between the Carta and the _comte_ and the _marquis_ , all strange, tasteless, contorted on her tongue. Her best bluff, she later congratulated herself on, was that she fooled others into thinking she was literate. An elf who could only read a few characters in her own language was expected to be fluent in the shemlen’s. Lavellan was surprised they never noticed; how would the Dalish know how to read if they barely spoke to humans? The only reason she was here at all was because she had to protect her clan; that was why she arrived at the Conclave in the first place. Fate, destiny, or the Creators played her in such a strange position. She stayed because the Breach was something that threatened all the elves across Thedas. Otherwise she would have stolen a horse and returned home the moment she had a chance to breath.

\---

Somehow, by the blessings of the Creators, she managed to persuade the mages to join the Inquisition. Though many had doubted her choice, it was one of the few things Lavellan was sure in. It would have made _her_ happy to see them free, and that was enough for the false ‘Herald of Andraste.’ With the mages behind her, the elf stared at the green glow in the sky, wondering what plot of the gods was in store for Thedas.

\---

It was not until sealing the Breach that Lavellan looked, _truly_ looked, at Haven. The faces usually melded together and the names slipped through her pointed ears, barely remembered. These people were not important to her; they had their own silly reasons to be here, and she would disappear after her task was completed. This was the first time she noticed the smiles and the wrinkles and the laughter of those who served in the Inquisition. It was here when she realized that to them, despite not sharing blood nor memories and sometimes not even beliefs, that to these strangers, it was their odd way of having a clan. And she felt pity for them, because it was a poor, twisted imitation of what a clan truly was. Yet they had joined the Inquisition. Foolishly, in her own secret opinion, because even she, the great hero who saved the day, didn’t know what the Inquisition stood for, and yet they seemed happy to fight for such a vague cause. Restoring order to the world could mean so many different things, as history had shown, and no one had defined what path this organization would take. But naturally, she said nothing, and simply smiled at the Seeker when the operation was declared a success: the Breach was closed.

Orange dots flicked on the horizon, and it took Lavellan seconds more than the Seeker to realize what it was: an army. Her first thought was that she had never seen so many people in one place; the second, that Haven was to be ruined by sunrise, and if there was ever a time to flee, it was now. Then Cassandra dragged her by the arm, and she found herself facing an impossible foe hours later, in a fight she never wanted, in a war she was not meant to be.

\---

Her mind was trying to figure out why she had offered herself as bait. Not that she hadn’t hesitated; the solution had wavered unspoken in the air between her and the commander (whose odd expression she faintly remembered, but didn’t bother to decipher). But she had gone, somehow willingly, to fight a strange creature she knew only from tales. Maybe it was the closeness of death, the hope that if she met Falon’Din he’d guide her to those she had lost. Even though she held few feelings for the people she had met on this journey, at least she had not failed them this time. She bought them time to escape, and though they were without a home, they still had their lives, and that was enough to start anew. In her eyes, anyway.

The cold began to seep into her body despite her natural resilience to the elements, and her mind decided that it was better to focus on the effort of moving one foot in front of another. There was no destination, but for some strange reason, she continued walking. Lavellan walked, walked like she had lead in her boots, weights in her arm. But she did not stop walking, and maybe it was because she simply did not know how to. In reflection, she debated what had stopped her from simply giving up when hours before she had thrown herself into the arms of death. Maybe it was the instinct of survival, or the thought that she wanted to see her clan. Or maybe it was because her mind was so exhausted, it could think of nothing else but to move.

\---

The trek to Skyhold could not be compared to her trek after her flight. For one, the blue, clear sky stretched above them, and there were no walls, no buildings. Out in the wild, Lavellan felt at peace. This was the terrain she was used to; open elements and snow caressing her cheek. She said nothing of her joy of being out in the wild; Dorian complained endlessly and she teased him about his weak constitution. Varric cursed the snow and the hidden rocks, in exchange for an earful of Lavellan’s snide remarks about his height. The whole of the caravan agreed that the snow was dreadful, but Lavellan saw the life and beauty of the mountains. But as she had learned early on in her time with the Inquisition, she kept her thoughts to herself, and listened to everyone else’s complaints. The snow did her good; it made her remember better times, reminded her that she was more than the mere shadow she was here, in this Inquisition. The hunter of Lavellan’s clan was a proud creature, sly, always watchful and confident in her silent steps. She burned with restlessness inside; while she wasn’t lying about herself, it was still deceit by omission. Reminding herself that this shadow of the hunter was a temporary solution to this problem; a test worthy of Dirthamen’s servant.

\---

A few days after finding Skyhold, Lavellan found herself facing her ‘advisers,’ who despite their titles, had just given some very terrible advice.  
“You do not want me as an Inquisitor.”  
They insisted otherwise.  
“You do not want me as an Inquisitor.” What was an Inquisitor, anyways? Lavellan vaguely remembered Mother Giselle saying the Inquisitor was the leader of the Inquisition, but aside from that, couldn’t recall what else they did. Still, it was a role she did not ask for and did not want. She had enough being the hero of a false religion; dealing with being the leader of a cause she didn’t care about was almost rude to those who did.  
They continued, conjuring arguments that were ridiculous to her ears. After hours of debate, she offered to think about it. Hiding in one of the abandoned towers, Lavellan frantically paced, arguing with herself. Accepting would mean a delay in her plans, another tie keeping her away from her clan. It would mean that the shadow she was, the _fraud_ she was, would have to continue.  
But, there was Corypheus. The shemlen had already made a mess of things, and that man threatened everyone. Solas had said the orb was elven; it was only a matter of time before the People suffered the repercussions. She could make sure they were safe. The Inquisition was slowly growing, and gaining power. That power could be used for almost anything. Tracking _him,_ the monster that plagued her in dreams, would be much easier with the Inquisition’s power; she wouldn’t have to go searching all of Thedas on her own in order to get her revenge.  
So she reluctantly agreed and took the blade in front of everyone (where they got the crusty old thing was beyond her. It took most of her strength to lift it skyward). In those moments, Lavellan promised to herself, swore on her vallaslin and invoking her patron’s name as she stared at the sea of faces below her, that she would only stay until Corypheus was defeated.

\---

Fate was incredibly strange, and there were times where the Creators did not seem as distant as the legends claimed. Certainly, there was something, someone fiddling with her life in a way she did not appreciate. If the Keeper had told her that her future held her at the head of a shemlen army as an idol of their fate, she would had laughed her way to the Beyond. But here Lavellan stood, blades in hands, calmly staring at the walls of the legendary fortress of Adamant, chaos erupting around her. The commander spoke rapidly, reminding her of the plan for the siege before she walked any further into the hornet’s nest. When he began repeating himself, she merely stared at Cullen with a raised eyebrow. It didn’t take much, in her quiet opinion, to silence the commander. His words began to falter. He wanted to say something else; it was in the way that he moved her hands and the pursed lips, but something flicked across his face and he remained silent instead. The signal sounded, Commander Cullen ask for the blessings of his false god, and she rushed inside.

No warning could have prepared her for what she would find within the fortress: the foolishness of the Wardens, despite their good intentions, and the Fade itself. Not the Fade of dreams; no, she was present here, in her physical form. She had to bite her tongue to hold her scream; Lavellan was no mage, a simple hunter, but the _wrongness_ of her presence hummed in her entire body, making her long legs tense and desperate to run away from it. Her companions’ fear was written on their faces; she just hoped hers was not; it would not help her shadow self’s image.

The Nightmare was a merciful name for the horrors they encountered. It deserved a worse name. It weaved itself in her thoughts, pulled at her most horrible memories, reminded her of her worst failures, teased her about the murders of her husband and her twin sister, making it difficult to separate her own thoughts from its. Finding herself facing a fragment of this monster was almost a relief. She mixed her fear with rage, and after an intense battle the party found themselves free of the Fade, back in the fray. Facing the Wardens, she saw the fear and shame in their eyes, and remembering the legends of their ferocity and skill, offered redemption in the form of an alliance. Thus was the way she convinced the legends to join the cause of the Herald of Andraste.

Upon her return to Skyhold, she was lauded and complimented on her success with the Wardens. Guilt weighed her heart; she knew she had only spared them because they were useful, and would have not hesitate to exile them if it was the better option. The guilt tore at her _because_ she did not feel guilt at her selfish decision. And the guilt only grew in the following months, because the shadow of who she was did anything to gain an advantage.

\---

One day, the consequences of pretty smiles and soft words caught up with her, and she found herself kissing the commander of her armies atop the battlements.  
Then he smiled, a smile so full of innocent and a purity of affection (she dared not call it anything else) that upon returning to her rooms, Lavellan was troubled by her actions. She meant it as something to pass the time, curiosity of how a human would be different, that she never imagined it to become something serious. A fair act would be to end it now, prevent him a heartache, allow him to find true happiness. He certainly deserved it. A selfish act would be to encourage him, a way to sooth her own heartache, allow herself to find comfort.

And at some point toying with people must have become a habit of hers, because she found herself at his side more often than was wise. And in those nights that she was far away and completely, utterly alone, she silently hated the shadow of herself that was too weak to be fair to the one person who had acted with no ulterior motives, hated the shadow of herself that was betraying the man she loved for ten years, who passed on e mere year ago. She hated the shadow of herself that was so _pathetic_ that she was seeking solace with another, using him to fill the emptiness in her heart. And what she hated the shadow for, above all, was that regardless of her supposed clarity of mind and strength of character, regardless of her supposed growing stature as one of the most influential people of Thedas, was too scared of sleeping alone.

\---

At the feet of the great Empress Celene, Lavellan had no particular feeling towards the monarch. She was a queen of an empire the elf did not understand, but had to save. It amused her to see the Great Game in action; Josephine and Leliana spoke of it with such admiration that they were too impressed to explain it in simple terms for what it was: it was a game of lies. It was incredibly simple and predictable, an opinion that Iron Bull shared as well. Even with her brown skin, strange markings, and pointed ears, it took a few eloquent words, a pretty smile and an empire fell at her feet, “twisted around her little finger.” Then she stared at the nobles laughing the night away after the attempted assassination, mentally chastising the attitude that landed them in this mess to begin with. In a turn of events the commander shyly asked to dance, and Lavellan wasn’t sure what surprised her more: a human publicly dancing with an elf, or that the elf said yes.

Leaving the Winter Palace, the hunter looked back and wondered what her sister would think of her shadow, who now held a human’s empire at arm’s reach.

\---

The Temple of Mythal shocked her beyond belief, and no one seemed to care what this meant to their precious Inquisitor. Dorian was shocked because he learned that yet another of his country’s tales were a lie, though Lavellan rudely thought it was time he became used to that; she was not in the mood to be merciful, though her actions said nothing of her thoughts. Solas seemed unimpressed for an elf who adored ancient history so, and despite being close friends, he remained a stoic figure as ever. Drinking from the Well of Sorrows made the decision of becoming Inquisitor worthwhile; otherwise, she would have never learned about the Temple, about the elvhen, and would have never had the voices in her head, who whispered secrets of an age gone by. Cullen and Solas were vocal in their displeasure of her choice, but this was her duty; any servant of Dirthamen seeked knowledge, and the Well was a gift she would have paid for with her own life, though she only said it was a necessity, convincing the others that Morrigan was too much of an unknown risk. Now, though it was difficult to decipher, she had the knowledge of thousands in her mind, and a gift for the People, to show she was still Dalish and not some false god’s toy. Maybe, in some way, it was also to prove to herself that she had not lost her own way in this world of humans, as Mahariel warned.

The praise of Mythal was more than she could bear. If Mythal had survived, even if it was within Asha’bellanar, the others could have as well. The implications of it were larger than she could process, and she spent the week in a daze that she told others was due to exhaustion. The Well eased the pain of being Inquisitor; finally, the fruits of her forced labor bore a sweeter fruit well worth the price.

\---

The wind beat her face and the heat clawed at her skin as she fought Corypheus, digging her daggers wherever she could. Ignoring the words of the beast, she finally found herself with the orb in her hand, cursing him to his fate. Then the skies were allowed to rest, and she faced the jubilant faces of her companions, a feral smile of the hunter’s victory on her face.

Skyhold feasted for days, and for those days she allowed herself a respite. Lavellan danced, ate, drank and listened to everything without complaint, happy that her journey was finally over, that she would abandon the scent that Fen’Harel caught to get her in this mess, and return to her clan where she belonged. This shadow only had to exist for a few more days, and soon the sun would be so high that there would be no shadow at all.

\---

A month crawled past, and Lavellan could never find a good time to declare her leave.

\---

Six weeks. The problems never ended, though she defeated the evil that invaded the world. Summer was slowly turning into autumn, and the leaves became constant reminders that if that if she didn’t leave soon, the passes would be blocked and she would be trapped for the winter. With each passing day she became more restless, more desperate to leave the shadow behind.

\---

They were in the middle of discussing how to ease the treaty talks of Ferelden and Orlais when Lavellan became tired of waiting, and for the first time in months, demanded something not for the Inquisition, but for herself. The shadow warned her that it was terrible timing and unexpected. The hunter within her was tired of hiding in the foliage, and in the end was the one who won the argument.  
“I’m leaving. No, let me clarify: I am leaving this. The Inquisition. I quit.”  
Josephine gasped in shock, Leliana sighed in expectancy, and Cullen stared in a mixture of confusion and disbelief.  
“I voiced my disagreement with this position from the start. I voiced my displeasure with the Inquisition itself when I found myself bound in a damp cell. I intended to leave after Corypheus at the earliest convenience, but I’ve learned that there will never be an end to the shemlen’s problems and that I would have to make the pause and not wait for it.”  
Josephine placed her clipboard on the war table carefully, and began flittering her hands in nervousness. “Inquisitor, I remember that you have voiced displeasure with being named Inquisitor, but you never indicated anything after those first comments. If there’s anything I have done to offend you, or anyone in the Inquisition at all to cause you to wish to leave, do not hesitate to mention to us; I am sure that the problem can immediately be resolved,” the ambassador spoke with a timid smile. Lavellan could not help but stare at the Antivan human, wondering what she had said to make her addled in such a way. She had clearly voiced her intention, did she not? If she wanted to dismiss someone, she would have; neither the shadow or hunter were women of inaction. Leliana continued, soothing her and complimenting her. This she expected; Lavellan suspected the spymaster was waiting for such a moment all along. For the next few minutes the women tried their best to reason with her while the commander frowned silently, his expression unreadable. For some reason the elf couldn’t find it within herself to address him, and blamed it on her shadow self.  
She stated her feelings now, instead of her future actions. “I never belonged in the Inquisition.”  
An avalanche of chatter followed, repeating all her heroic deeds and the good acts she committed. She took it as flattery, though her advisers probably believed it true. Her shoulders slumped the more they continued, a sign they took as their victory. Within the hour they resumed speaking about the treaties, though with less vigor than before.

Lavellan sat out in her balcony later that night, staring at the distant horizon. The Inquisition would never willingly let her go; how had she not noticed it before? In a way, she was their Divine, the face of their movement. It did not matter what she wanted; what mattered was what she needed. But there was only so much she could bear before she erred, or worse. Was it really too hard for them to let her go? She didn’t bother answering that question; her answer would forever differ from the others. She was tired of being someone else. All she wanted was to be herself again, feel the wind ruffling her hair and the sensation of leaves beneath her feet. To feel wanted, _appreciated_ , by people who understood her and only asked that she be herself. The Inquisition would never offer that, and thus, she could not stay.

Walking back inside she stared at her reflection, running a hand through her cropped hair. There had been times where people had mistaken her to a man. If she cut her hair even shorter, and wore something different, something generic...

\---

Hours later she found herself outside the walls of Skyhold, reflecting on her time within. She was never truly happy, that was true, and there had been many moments of quiet despair, but there were times where it almost felt like home. The game of Wicked Grace where she surprised herself by telling a story of her youth. Listening to Solas’s and Varric’s stories, like she used to do in her hahren training. Teaching Cole how to balance a dagger on his fingertip, then on his nose. Sweet moments with Cullen, where she almost felt whole again.

But it never could be, if she lived as a shadow. A shadow easily joined the darkness, and with all its intrigue, machinations and power, the Inquisition loomed on the edge of a great abyss.

Lavellan flipped the worn gold coin in her hand, tucking it in her belt purse. For luck, he said. Turning her horse to the mountain pass out of the Frostbacks, she whistled until the howls of the marbaris echoed across the mountain, ignoring the growing ache in her heart. She told herself it was leaving her shadow self that hurt her so much. After all, it had been a part of her all along. It had just grown during the past year, a shield she used to protect herself from the unknown. Now, it was useless and broken by a hunter who wanted her life back.

Imaging the smiles of her clan, she kicked her horse into a gallop, anxious for the return of the proud hunter she knew so well.

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a long time since I've written anything!  
> Anyways, this is a short story of how my Lavellan lived through the Inquisition. My consistent thought through the game was, "I'm an elf who's spent her life away from society -- how the hell am I supposed to know anything about the Chantry?" And for some reason, I spent the whole game thinking that I'd leave in the end (maybe subconsciously I was influenced by the previous games) so when post-game was available, I instantly thought "What? I thought I was leaving!" and decided to incorporate that into this story (I never imagined her as the type to stay). So yes, she's a bit of a coward.
> 
> Also, yes, I feel like a total ass doing that to Cullen. I love reading nice stories about his relationship with the Inquisitor, but I decided to take a different approach. After all, people do things for different reasons, and those reasons aren't always with the best intentions.
> 
> I decided to simply say 'Lavellan' in the story instead of a first name, because a) I went with the default name and felt kinda lame, though I really liked it and b) I enjoy reading those types of stories, because it lets one insert themselves or a completely new person into the story.
> 
> In conclusion, thanks for reading! I may post more short stories in the future, so if anyone has any suggestions, please tell me.


End file.
